The last hope

The night was punctuated only by the sound of my work gnarled fingers hitting the keyboard. The 8 x 4 room that was to be, and indeed still is, for the next 3 days, my office was stiffiling in the near tropical heat. Gently pushing my chair back so as not to wake the Wessex Mountain Hound that had chosen to coil itself round my feet I gently descended the stairs in the moonlight til my hand found the well worn controls of the electronic thermostat which, I was alarmed to see, had been set, by hands unknown to over some 20 degrees. I can only think that the natives had entered the house unawares during the best of top gear, or worse, my ship mate Capn. Lummox, had brushed the dial with her titanic mass as she had yet again raided our dwindiling provisions. Angered by her selfish actions and with deep concerns for our fate I sat back at this very desk to consider what the day would hold for me and to look around at the result of my industrious preperations.

First I came to the object of so many hours of consideration and worry over the last few months. To some it would appear to be just a well thumbed small white book book lying across the map table, a mere trifle.

But ,of course, to those more travelled they would immediatly recognise it as the now legendary Wyre Forset A-Z 1999 (including Bewdley and environs.) They might also recognise that it above all other books may hold the key to the uncharted, and savage, land of Kidderminster.
Tearing my eyes away from my beloved map I studied my preperations: a half empty packet of Drum tobacco, a cup of now cool coffee, bundles of clothing, a Royal Enfield carbine and various sacks of foodstuffs selected especially for my long journey.

I had spent several weeks with the esteemed explorer Dr Holland prior to his leaving for the South Pole. Whilst at his Cambridgeshire Laboratories I chanced upon many gems of wisdom in the slag heap of his mind. As he had advised me I was to travel light and armed. I had chosen by boots with great care following several weeks of training in the Brecon Beacons. I had, as I had expected, chosen to go with my trusty "old trainers", aquired at no small expense from Messrs Aldi and Co. Ltd. at the East India Offices (Black Country Division). I was already concerned at the weight of the sacks of foodstuffs, and going against accepted wisdom had chosen to strip down the supplies leaving no possible margin for error, taking only one flask of tea and a small "Marathon" choclate cake, recently aquired from Messrs. Singh and Patels food emporium.

But now the hour is late,

I hope soon to post, god willing, more details of my intended route and report back to you soon.

God Save the Queen and may he also be so kind to guard my foodstuffs, and my virginity against the Lummox.

Please.